Uneasy Countries
by Dancing Feather
Summary: Arthur did not know what possessed him to do so, but he was stuck. Little did he realize that calling Alfred for help was the least of his problems. Or maybe that was his problem. :twoshot: How many gay people can you piss off in less than 3 hours?
1. Arthur is Racist

Inspired by American Charlie Daniels' songs, "Uneasy Rider" and "Uneasy Rider '88". There are two songs so there are going to be two chapters. UK is the main character so maybe I should've rewritten the title to say, "Poor England, but You Asked for it". Hidekaz Himaruya owns Hetalia. If you see anything; grammatical, spelling, history, and/or OOC errors, please correct me.

* * *

**Half Empty: Bloody Bulgarians**

Arthur was taking a trip back to England in a Peugeot 807. If you shuddered just after reading that line, either you are French or you know your cars. You may want to know why Arthur is driving a Peugeot. In which he would reply, "Bloody if I know! All cars look the fucking same these days!" While he didn't know his cars, he knew he was driving a shitty one after five minutes of driving.

"This is shit." He told himself every time he attempted to make a turn on the highway. "I should've denied his offer, I can barely drive this bugger." Speaking of Francis, it doesn't matter what country you're from, slang words are weird. Take bugger, for example. It originated years back from the Catholic Church to describe what they thought of the East Orthodox Church. They used to call them buggers, translate, a Bulgarian homosexual.

In America, bugger basically translates to fuck.

So Arthur was fucking a gay Bulgarian back to the UK.

Go Bulgaria!

After a few more minutes of annoying highway background sound, a sound similar to a gunshot was heard. In shock Arthur jumped, hitting his head on the ceiling. Steering getting steadily worse, it only took a few moments for him to realize that his tire blew out.

"Bloody! Fuck- AUGH!" He screamed and against better judgment, he slammed his head against the steering wheel before properly stopping the car.

He had no spare so he stood in front of his car, wondering what to do with it. Hot air blowing against his face, the thoughts of blowing the car up came to mind. But he realized that if he did that, he wouldn't have the satisfaction of driving the worthless vehicle up Francis' ass. Oh, decisions decisions. Realizing that he literally was in the middle of nowhere, he decided to keep the car. More literally for you readers, who have no idea where I set this story.

"I saw a bar not too long ago, I could call for a cab." He might have been talking to a fairy, or a unicorn, but since you can't see them Arthur only appeared to be talking to himself. You could ask what happened to Arthur's cellphone. And boy, can I ever come up with reasons to why he doesn't. He may have forgotten it, lost it, or broke it while talking to (read: screaming at) Alfred. Why, the possibilities are endless!

You might also ask if the person he was talking to was a unicorn, why couldn't he ride that instead? Actually, you are probably wondering why I'm asking myself all of these questions. Like I don't trust myself or something.

Alas.

Driving back to the previously seen bar, Arthur tried to ignore the noise the hubcap was making on the ground. But to effectively ignore that sound one must be deaf. Arthur isn't deaf, so he lost the game. Parking right up front, Arthur gave a glance up to see the name of the bar.

"Dew Drop Inn? Really? I'm not in the mood for puns right now." Not that Arthur was in the mood for anything, ever. But given the look of the place, he felt it safe to hide his eyebrows under a cap before walking on in. "Excuse me, but can I use your phone?" He asked the bartender who, coincidentally, was Bulgarian. The Bulgarian gave Arthur a glare as if he had reading this story thus far and just pointed towards the telephone. Placing a few coins into the phone, he heard the dial tone. Sighing, he pressed the numbers of all knowing, epic regret. In short, he called Alfred.

"Hello!"

"Um, 'ello. Alfred-"

"I'm not hear at the moment, so if you would leave a message-"

"God dammit!"

"Kidding!" Arthur clenched the phone as he heard laughter on the receiver. "What do ya need, Arthur?"

"I got talked into driving a lousy car, and now I'm stuck in the middle of nowhere!"

"Really? I reckon I can get there in about ten minuets or so."

"But... but I didn't tell you where I am!"

"GPS doll, look it up." Alfred laughed as he heard Arthur sputter on the other side of the phone. "Now, you just stay where you are-"

"You idiot! Like I have anywhere else to go!" Arthur barked before slamming the phone down. Still blushing, he made his way to the bar table and ordered himself a beer. "Stupid Alfred, stupid...." Arthur wasn't aloud to vent for long, however. As he heard the front doors swing open he heard the words,

"Who's the fool that owns the atrocious French car outside?" The Austrian said as he crossed his arms. It didn't take him long to scan the bar for the right owner as at this particular time, the only people in the bar was Arthur and the bartender. Feeling the glare penetrating his back, Arthur decided to down the beer he had and make a speedy getaway. Waiting outside for Alfred seemed safer.

A few steps towards the door and two more people walked in. A tall German and a drunk Italian. Seeing that his situation was steadily worsening, Arthur gulped. He had no time nor interest in getting into a fight. Especially on the weekend (More especially because there were two of them and only one of him (the Italian doesn't count, for obvious reasons)). As Arthur attempted to maneuver around them, he still bumped into the Italian (who seemed to be walking all over the place) causing both to crash to the floor. Arthur's hat flew off, reveling his large and ungodly eyebrows.

"Ow! Owww!" Whined the Italian. "Ludwig, that meanie just hit me!" While the newly named German didn't look like he believed what the Italian said, he still seemed offended at his injury.

"Hey, you Englishman, apologize!"

The Austrian looked like he was going to say something too as he passed a handkerchief to the Italian, but he was too busy snickering at Arthur's amazing eyebrows to care. Arthur thought that was amazingly rude, especially for someone who possesses a mole. Seeing that this was going very wrong very fast Arthur attempted to pull a quick one. Standing up, he swiftly kicked Ludwig in the knee before bringing out his fists.

"Watch out everyone, because the real culprit is right behind you!" Arthur moved himself behind a table. "You don't know it but this man is a spy! He's working for the Neo-Nazis and he's been sent here to put a stop to pasta!" Ludwig was still bent over holding on to his knee, but everyone else had Arthur's attention as he purposely starting shouting more bullshit. "He's a friend of those stiff stuck ups!" Arthur gave a glare over to the Austrian "I bet he has a picture of Hitler tacked up in his garage! He's a snake in the grass! He may look stupid, but that's just a disguise, he's a master in the ways of espionage!" Taking in a deep breath, Arthur let loose his final insult. "And he voted for Berlusconi for Prime Minister!" The Austrian looked like he was going to burst out laughing, but the drunk Italian on the other hand,

"No!" He cried. "Please Ludwig! It can't be true!"

"Of course it's not true!" Growled Ludwig. Boy, if he wasn't pissed before, Arthur just signed his death warrant. Dead man walking or not, the Italian began crying and so Ludwig tried explaining to him, that there was no possible way for him to vote for Berlusconi, not that he wanted to. "In Germany it's illegal to own anything promoting Nazi!" Standing up he clenched his fist. "Stupid prejudice bastard! I'm going to-" But he was shouting at no one as Arthur had long gone left the bar.

"Alfred! Alfred!" He cried, waving madly at bright red truck driving into the parking lot. Alfred brought down the window and stuck his head out.

"Yo, Arthur!" He waved back. "Hey, do you know who owns the loser Peu-"

"Just shut up and let me in!" Arthur ran to the passenger seat, swinging the door open and jumping inside. That was about the time Ludwig came walking out of the bar. "Oh god." Mumbled Arthur as he looked down to apply his seatbelt.

"What? What's the matter?" Alfred rose an eyebrow. "Did that guy give you any trouble?"

"Yes, but it doesn't matter." He rubbed his temples. "Let's get out of here."

"Sure." Alfred said narrowing his eyes before pressing down on the gas. Arthur swallowed a scream as the car screamed into action, kicking a cloud of dust in the air.

"Yeehaw!" Whooped Alfred as he drove the car in Ludwig's direction. Poor Ludwig, who was preparing to punch the face of an Englishman just noticed the American car headed towards him (I think the right word for that is backpfeifengesicht. Which means in German, 'A face that is in need of a fist').

"What are you doing?" Arthur found himself squealing.

"Just something I call good ol' revenge!" Laughed Alfred. "Take that, grease head!" Ludwig however, was not going to give the crazy driver the pleasure of chasing him around the parking lot and jumped back into the bar. "Aw! Pity!" Whined Alfred.

"You idiot!" Arthur hit Alfred's shoulder. "They're gonna call the cops on us!"

"They'll have ta get my license plate number first!" Alfred drove out of the parking lot. "Don't you worry, Arthur!"

"Too late, I'm worrying." He closed his eyes and groaned.

Meanwhile, inside the bar,

"...yes, a bright, horrible red." The Austrian leaned his head onto his cellphone as he tapped his fingers against the window, watching the car drive out of sight. "The license is, USA #1. It has a few eagle stickers on the back. They are poorly drawn..."

"Veeh!" The Italian wept into Ludwig's chest while hugging him tightly. "Ludwig, I was sure they were going to get you!"

"Well, they didn't." He sighed. "You can stop crying now."

"That English guy really scared me!" Ludwig rolled his eyes as he patted the shorter man's head.

"Yes."

"Saying that you voted for Berlusconi~"

"Augh! Feliciano, I can't vote for him!"

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**Sorry I didn't put this up earlier, I hope this covers everything in this chapter!**

Top Gear sums up the Peugeot 807 pretty well, "A real tumbleweed moment for the Peugeot/Citroen partnership, this recently face lifted version of the least exciting car on sale, the Peugeot 807, continues to engender a stony silence from everyone who steps within. It's not awful, it's just… nothing." Ouch. Maybe I should've made a comparison to Canada with that...

"_Eh?" Matthew starts tearing up._

"_Hey!" Francis hugs him around the neck. "I'm trying you know!" He then shakes a fist at Arthur, who properly flips him off._

I was raised being told that real cursing comes from the misuse of words in sentences. So when I was younger I was allowed to speak as I wished, as long as used it in the proper sentence. Like moron, the original meaning is an adult who has the mental capacity of a thirteen year old or younger and has been arrested more than once. ...South Italy?

"_What? I'm not a kid!" Lovino growls, also shaking his fist. "And I've never been arrested!"_

"_Correction, you have never been caught." Antonio giggles as he gives a few light tugs on Lovino's curly strand, leaving the angry Italian helpless and less angry. But in only correcting the that part of Lovino's sentence, that means Antonio still considers him a kid... and he's fondling him..._

GPS (Global Positioning System) which is short for GNSS (Global Navigation Satellite System). Way to go America, why not just call it that? Yes, the American invented it, not the Japanese. Shock! The only one in function was developed by the United States Department of Defense and is managed by the United States Air Force 50th Space Wing (there is no abbreviated term for that one) and it's been orbiting around us since 1993.

"_I'm watching you." Alfred delivers his best spooky voice as he wiggled his fingers in a magical coot like fashion. "I'm watching all of you!"_

Have fun trying to sleep knowing that.

Neo-Nazi (Neo-Nazi) like to call themselves National Socialist so they sound a little less evil. Obviously, they are trying to bring Nazism back and their favorite pastime is pretending that the Holocaust never happened. What I find really weird however, is since Germany has banned everything pro-Nazi, where do these guys get their stuff? Amazingly, America, Scandinavia, the Czech Republic, Hungary, and Italy do smuggling. Canada doesn't smuggle, but gives Internet servers.

Seriously guys? Holy crap.

Yes, backpfeifengesicht is a word. I would love it if someone would tell me how to pronounce that. Right now I'm guessing, back-fi-fin-gi-shyt. But I don't trust myself, my German is atrocious.

For anyone who loves and/or knows how birds are built, would be appalled at how America shows their love of their national bird. I think about 90 percent of all I've seen have had broken wings, legs and necks as they attempt to put the bird in showy, cool poses that are physically impossible for the bird to do. Further irony hits because their national bird is endangered. I wouldn't mind if the bird was drawn in a cartoony way, but no, they are all drawn realistically. Well, as realistic as a dead bird with a broken body goes.

The fastest way for me to sum up Silvio Berlusconi is to say he's the Italian version of George W. Bush, with Mafia ties and everything. Ludwig can't vote, because he is not Italian. Feliciano is trying, but he still hasn't converted him yet.

"_Come Ludwig," Feliciano says in a deep voice, "come to the pasta side!"_


	2. Matthew needs a Hug

**Half Full: Of Mounties and Cosplayers  
(Sometimes confused for the same thing)**

"So, where are we driving to?" Alfred gave a glance back at Arthur before gluing them back to the road.

"The closest airport there is." Arthur sighed, poking at the door handle. Yes, the thought of jumping out of a moving car had crossed his mind.

"Oh." He bit his lower lip. Honestly, Alfred was expecting that answer but it didn't stop him from being disappointed upon hearing it. "Where are you going to?" He gave a thumbs up to a Hummer passing by, Arthur crinkled his nose.

"Away from this entire dammed country." Alfred sighed, he was expecting that answer too.

"Hey, it's not all bad."

"Right." Arthur said with as much sarcasm as possible.

"Of course, it will never be as great as America!" He chuckled as Arthur gave another groan. "Look, the nearest airport is hours away." He lied without missing a beat. "How about we get a bite to eat?"

"Sure, why not."

"Alright!" Alfred decided to celebrate by turning on his MP3. Classic rock blasting on high, Arthur attempted to save his ears by covering them with his hands. "SWEET HOME, ALABAMA!" The American shrieked, more than sung. The Englishman thought about praying for mercy, but then remembered how much it helped him last time he did it. Which is to say, it didn't.

Alfred did as he wished, and he blissfully sped down the road until he noticed something strange coming up on his rear view mirror. He didn't know it was possible, but it seemed a red cloaked man was ridding up on a copper colored horse. How he was managing to catch up with them could only be explained by the unexplained forces of magic. That is to say, if the rider was riding on Arthur's unicorn.

Wow, Arthur seems to be getting a lot of action in this story.

"Is that what I think it is?" He rubbed his green eyes before sitting up more straightly. "What's a Mountie doing up here?" Of course, their actual name was the Royal Canadian Mounted Police (RCMP), internally being called 'The Force'. That might have sounded too cool for the Americans and British because they can only picture Canadians outside of Canada as comedians. Why else would they leave their country? Plus 'The Force' sounded too much like Star Trek- I mean, Star Wars.

Alfred decided to slow the car down and pull it to the side. In only a few moments later, the horse rode up along side. The man sitting on the horse swung his legs over and off, landing right next to Alfred's window. Pushing up his spectacles, the Canadian knocked on the window. "Please, do you mind, eh? It's easier to talk if you put douwn the windew." Alfred was about to, but stopped halfway after hearing that sentence.

"Wha-wha-what?" He coughed down a laugh.

"I asked if you would put douwn the windew."

"Good God." Arthur said just above a whisper as he hid his mouth behind a hand. _'Don't laugh, don't laugh...'_

"How can I help you, officer?" Alfred was the first to recover. "Or are you an officer? I can never tell with you guys."

"Eh?" The newly introduced character blinked back.

"Forest cops..." Arthur said with his face in his hands.

"Go, go forest ranger?" The Canadian frowned as he watched his two fellow English speakers shake from silent laughter.

"Listen, eh? You guys were-"

"He said it again, he said it again!" Arthur slapped his knee, hoping the pain would remind him of manners, but it wasn't happening.

"Said what, eh?"

"Exactly, eh!" Alfred nodded, he felt like he was going to cry.

"Stop that!" Arthur punched Alfred's shoulder.

"Stop what, eh?" He grinned back at Arthur.

"Th-that!" He giggled.

At this moment in time, the Canadian had a suspicion that they were making fun of him.

"Listen eh, you guys were speeding-"

"Really?" Alfred sighed while he pulled off his glasses so he could wipe off his face. "I didn't think these countries laws applied to me."

"What?" The Canadian blinked, trying to refrain from losing temper. "Why is that, eh?"

"What a comedian!" Alfred cleaned his glasses before putting them back on. "It's because I'm an American!" The Canadian closed his eyes as he saw a sparkle arose from the driver's teeth.

"You were still doing sixty in a forty five zone!" Before Alfred could reply, Arthur undid his seat belt to stretch over him. The Mountie stepped back as the British man held out a hand,

"Please, let me shake your hand for being such a good chap."

"Eh? Oh, ah, thank you..." Light blush hinted at the Canadian's cheeks as he took the other's hand and shook.

"What is your name, young man?"

"Matthew, Matthew Williams."

"Well Matthew Williams, I wish to thank you for being so patient with us." Alfred rolled his eyes, ignoring the fact that the Englishman stretching across his lap was glaring at him.

"Well, in that case, I'll let you go." Matthew blinked as he felt the strong urge to get out of this fanfic as soon as possible. "But if I catch you again, it's the county jail, eh?"

"Thank you, forest ran-!" Alfred was cut short as he was punched in the face.

"You will not have to tell us twice!" Chimed Arthur hurriedly. "Have a good day!"

"Uh, you two, eh." Matthew gave a wave before mounting on his horse and riding into the sunset. Actually, since Matthew was a Mountie (and it wasn't that time of day yet) he rode back down the highway where he came from to terrorize the neighboring Maple trees beyond the horizon. Hey, it's the best ending that guy is going to get in this story.

Once the Mountie was out of sight Alfred quickly brought the car back up to speed. Before Arthur could protest, the cowboy spoke up,

"Did you hear how many times he said 'eh'?"

"Yeah, I started counting myself."

"How far did you get?"

"Too many." He chuckled, which made Alfred decide to ruin the moment.

"What the hell was with the 'young man', comment?"

"Hey, you didn't get a ticket." Arthur's good mood vanished however, as Alfred began making obnoxious, wet kissing sounds. "What do you take me for?" Blushing, he smacked Alfred's hat off.

When they reached a city (What city, who knows? It could be yours!), Alfred slowed the car down so they could read the restaurant signs and pick what seemed to cater to both their tastes. They eventually decided on a place called, "Cloud Nine, Bar and Grill". Arthur chose it because of the cloud nine reference, Alfred took it because it said grill.

Arthur began to regret his decision upon walking in because the place was jammed and noisy. Alfred nudged him in the side and pointed at the stage, "Hey! A punk rock band! My country's specialty!" Arthur rolled his eyes.

"It came from mine and your country with the help of Australia." He waggled a finger at him, as if he were a toy dog getting punished. "Don't assume everything you like must be American." What made Arthur further uneasy however, was that the song subject was about suicide. And the Lithuanian who was singing it seemed to be very passionate about it. "Maybe we should look for another place, I'm not so sure about this..."

"You always act like this when we try something new." Alfred grabbed Arthur's arm. "Common, I'm starving."

They walked up to the bar, Alfred pushing and shoving participants aside for Arthur to get by. Once they sat down on the stools, a young man walked up with them calling, "Please, let me buy this round." Well, she looked like a guy but certainly didn't sound like one as she adjusted the Liechtenstein flag pinned on her sleeve, which was just below a Switzerland's.

"I'm really, REALLY unsure about this." Arthur mumbled to Alfred.

"Jeez!" Alfred rolled his eyes. "If it bothers you that much, I guess we'll go." Relief began to fill Arthur's chest as they climbed off their chairs. Turning, very eager to leave, Arthur got halfway through the crowd when he realized he wasn't being followed. Looking back, he saw his friend, talking to some shy looking Asian. It seemed like he was asking her out for a dance.

"Alfred, what are you doing?" He shouted across the room.

"Just one dance, granddad, I promise I won't take long." He gave a thumbs up to Arthur before dragging the fancy dressed girl to the dance floor. Defeated, Arthur went back to the bar.

_'Augh, I can't believe he's doing this!' _He looked around nervously. _'There are questionable people everywhere... and I swear that Polish guy is wearing pantyhose!' _He wasn't given much time to himself, however, as a familiar face (but still not welcomed) came and sat next to him.

"Why Arthur," Francis chuckled, "I never thought I would see you in one of these places." He leaned his elbows against the counter, thinking that would raise his attractive level twenty points. It didn't.

"Oh God." Arthur shut his eyes in disbelief, and disgust. "'These places'?"

"Why yes." Arthur almost fell out of his seat as he jumped. Did Francis just trail his hand up his leg? Why yes. Apparently he did and was now pressing it against his thigh.

"If... if you don't get your filthy French paw off of me-" Green eyes glared at blue.

"Ha! I love it when you get that fire in your eye." Francis fluttered his eyelashes at him.

"Well partner, try this on for size." He swung a punch and it met Francis square on, causing him to go out like Ludwig at the Disco dancing competition. But since no one cared about Francis, no one made any rejection to the sudden violence. Obviously, Arthur still didn't want to stay in this bar any longer. He had no idea when Francis would wake up or when someone else would choose to hit on him. There were no Russians in sight, but it didn't ease his mind much.

"Hey! Arthur, you won't believe how many people we know are here!" Alfred ran up to him with that girl he was talking to earlier. This about confirmed his suspicions. Alfred noticing his friend staring at his night prize, decided to break the ice. "Have you met her? She says her name is Sakura." Arthur fought hard not to roll his eyes.

"No." He sighed. "Alfred, I think you know her too." Tugging on the girl's hair, the 'girl' gave a gasp as the wig came loose and fell to the ground. Alfred began to gag as he discovered that the beautiful girl he was dancing with (and who knows what else) was just awkward Kiku. Madly blushing, Kiku pulled off a high heel shoe and chucked it at Arthur before running back into the crowd. Arthur let the shoe hit him, he thought the Japanese man needed some payback.

Unlike Matthew, who's 'fishing' with a Russian right now.

Alfred only continued to make a choking sound. His face looked as if he were trying to decide if he was perturbed or further interested. Arthur however, wasn't intent on finding out the answer as he grabbed Alfred by the arm and headed for the door.

Shoving Alfred into the passenger seat, Arthur strapped himself in and drove the car right out of the city heading for the nearest airport. Unconsciously flooring the gas petal, he did not notice that he was going over a hundred and was thus confused when he saw flashing lights behind him. So no Mounties.

"Hello karma." Alfred mumbled as he quickly put his seat belt on.

This time it was the real police, the ones who were informed by the Austrian from the first chapter. "No one screws with West!" The cop behind them waved not a gun, but a whip in their general direction.

"Oh, God!" Wept Arthur.

**So, Upon Conclusion...**

As this story is coming to it's close, we see Arthur and Alfred sharing a room in the county jail. Both had called their bosses to be bailed.

"You know, as soon as I'm out of this establishment, I'm going back there." Alfred tugged at the bars, as if to test their strength.

"What?" Arthur tightened his fists, getting ready to swing them. "You can't go back there!"

"Hell I can," Alfred shrugged off the potential threat. "I'll just tell everyone that I'm Canadian."

"Wha-?" He rose an eyebrow.

"And you're the American that ruined the party." The man laughed as Arthur grabbed the front of his shirt to yank him down to his level.

"Y-you, you bastard!"

"Hey!" Alfred made a sad face which caused Arthur to loosen his grip. "You have to admit," he pulled away, giving a big grin again, "seeing Kiku in that outfit _was _kinda hot."

"I. Hate. You."

* * *

**More info!**

The Hummer is a piece of American trash, to say the least. Most people who own one give the excuse that because of it's heavy frame, it saves lives in car accidents. Sure it does. The only Hummer that is allowed in the UK (from last I remember) was the H3. And it's 20mpg. Owning one is basically saying, "What have the polar ice caps ever done for me? Fuck you, environment!"

And for an example of something awesome from America, Sweet Home Alabama belongs to Lynyrd Skynyrd.

I have no idea what is the preferred horse breed mounties use. At all. They _could_ be using unicorns.

It doesn't matter where you are from, there have been tourists that have used the excuse, "I'm not from here so this county's laws do not apply to me." Law breaking can be as silly as speeding to as bad as murder.

Depending on where you are from, 'young man' can be a complement, an insult or a hit on. I find it best to not use it at all.

Yes, it took a threesome to invent punk rock.

Yuki and Sakura are some of the most popular Japanese names in anime. I have no idea why.

There is a running joke for American tourists that basically says, "If you wish to not be treated badly overseas pretend you're Canadian."

Thanks for reading! If you thought the story sucked, please do not hesitate to tell me why! I want to improve!


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